Braid
by Alcalina
Summary: A few months into the Clone Wars: Anakin will cut his Padawan braid soon. This might affect the relationship with his Master in unexpected ways. Obi-Wan/Anakin - Padme/Anakin
1. 1

**BRAID**

by Alcalina

* * *

What my Master says and what he thinks rarely coincide.  
When he declares that 'the kid will be ready for his trials soon' he's suggesting I should be already.  
Stating he will thoughtfully consider my opinion, he's telling me he has never heard anything this stupid.  
'You need meditating' means 'calm the kriff down'. If he exhorts me to patience, he wishes I could just shut up.

We're sparring, and he shouts 'guard up!' meaning 'I'm kicking your ass again'.

I do as he says; fend and counterattack, forcing him to recede.

People are watching. They like the way we fight - and probably enjoy our bickering.

Lately, our conversations tend to end up in arguing.  
Well, I argue, at least. Obi-Wan just sighs and lowers his voice until it can barely be heard.  
All these efforts to conceal his disappointment make his shields grow higher every day.

"Shield!" My Master orders, echoing my thoughts.

He foresees where I will strike and ducks.  
His low kick sweeps my ankles.  
I hit the ground, and he's astride me, his training blade so close its warmth is on my neck, my 'saber in the dirt.

Some clap hands.

"Dead," he whispers, unable to hold back the spark of a triumphant smile; holding me down with his weight, wide pupils, sweated, panting.

I'm so hard it hurts.  
His mouth opens. He blushes.

I profit of his confusion to Force-push him away and dash on him, my weapon flying back into my grip.  
He disengages before I reach him, but my momentum makes me crash against his body anyway.  
I step back and mutter an apology, my cheeks burning.  
Bystanders do not clap, this time.

"Well done, Padawan," Obi-Wan says, flattening his tunic without looking at me.

.

Five minutes later, I'm in the 'fresher, banging my forehead against the tiles.  
I stroke myself roughly, and want to cry.  
For a second, I see his hands, his lips.  
I get off too quickly, cursing under my breath.

I play the dutiful Padawan in the afternoon, studying, cleaning, and meditating on the topic of what the kriff is wrong with me.  
A lecture on self-control is both dreaded and anticipated, as I can't even imagine my Master addressing the matter.  
I set the table for two, peeking at my comm with increasing frequency. When it gets dark, I eat leftovers out of the conservator alone.

.

The following morning, Obi-Wan is at the kitchen table, drinking Sapir tea and reading the news in his pyjamas, as he does any given day.  
He greets me with a heap of his eyebrows toward last night untouched dishes, and comments he should've let me know he wasn't coming.  
As usual, he even denies me the privilege of remonstration.

I shrug and pour myself a caf.

Breakfast is my favourite meal; his reading grants me the freedom of staring and I dwell on the exclusive benefit of seeing him dishevelled and a bit crumpled. Specifically, I'm developing a fixation on that lock of hair that only covers his eye when he's unguarded.

"I got you at the arena, yesterday." I grab a cookie from the jar, both disappointed and relieved he can't see my grin. "It felt good."

His eyes slowly raise from the holopad. Something that resembles discomfort flows through our Bond.

"Yes, you did," Obi-Wan admits before his focus gets back to the device.

Then, in spite of my vexed munching, he doesn't give me another look. Loudly clearing the table can't pull his attention either, and I must give up.

"It's perfectly natural," he declares when I'm already in the doorway.

I turn on my heels.

He clears his throat. "Action and reaction, you know. Nothing to be ashamed of. Just... Mechanical."

Mechanical my ass; I'm confident Yoda wouldn't have elicited the same response.  
It's clear my Master would gladly dive into a Sarlacc Pit to avoid this conversation, so I appreciate the effort. Still, he's a karking idiot.

"I'm not ashamed," I lie. "You?"

"Neither I am, of course. I'm a man myself if you didn't notice, I'm well aware of how these things work."

I desperately try not to form a mental picture out of his words and fail, with disastrous consequences.

"Good to know," I tease, forcing myself not to fidget.

He pinches his nose and vaguely moves his other hand toward the door. "Go now. I'm sure you have more urgent business than mocking your Master."

"You read sarcasm everywhere..." My eyes purposely widen as his own emerge from behind his hand. "I genuinely assumed Obi-Wan Kenobi hadn't these inconveniences."

"Like he's some cardboard figure? A lecture vending machine? I foolishly expected you to know I'm human without the need to remark it."

So bitter.  
I do wonder if he realises we're actually discussing his erections.

"I didn't mean to be disrespectful, Master; it's fair you're not supposed to share every aspect of your life with your Padawan. However, this means I can only guess and, during all these years, not even once I had the feeling you were..." I cough. "Interested in someone, so..."

"We weren't addressing 'interests' but physical responses. I've never..." He heavyly sighs, turns his pad off and stands up. "Nevermind, Anakin. This is not what I intended to discuss this morning. I just wanted to make sure you weren't embarrassed. It's no big deal. These things happen."

"Do they?" I taunt, and bite my tongue immediately afterwards.

Obi-Wan lets out a quiet huff. He turns around to rinse mugs in the sink, grumbling about lost causes and time wasted.  
For once, his words match his thoughts.

.

This awkward chat brings consequences, though probably not the ones my Master was aiming for.

First of all, I give up.  
I resign to my inappropriate feelings and accept I can't change them.

"It's just a phase," I tell myself. "It will pass."

But it doesn't.  
Surrender means daydreaming is permitted, and I do it all the time.  
In my most abused fantasy, Obi-Wan just does what he incautiously implied stating he's a man himself. This alone brings me near.  
I add the idea of his Padawan being somewhat responsible and picture him searching relief in the shower, or in his bed, just like I do.  
I rarely last enough to find out how this tale ends.

Secondarily, my Master's shields are thicker than ever. Perfectly natural or not, he apparently pays attention not to create further 'action and reaction' occasions.  
This painfully confirms me I disgusted him, even if I truly don't know how I could have expected differently.

To conclude, sex gets weird.  
The long pining hours I spend with him every day make me arrive at 500 Republic too hungry. Often, all I bring back to the Temple is a lingering, frustrating dissatisfaction.

* * *

 _When a fic gets long and serious, I take a break starting a short, light one that soon becomes long and serious so I start another one and so on._

 _Do not yell at me, English is not my language and I have no beta for this._


	2. 2

We got back from Coronet City in a terrible mood, as confirmed by the deep wrinkle between my Master's eyebrows and my aggravating indolence.  
He hardly tolerates failures, and I start finding the old, usual intimacy of our missions strenuous.  
We shower together, dress together, sleep together. Our beds are often so close I could touch him just reaching out.  
My Corellian nights have been spent staring at the ceiling and considering how karked up I am since his breathing enthrals me this much.

Padawans have crushes on their Masters; it's so trite it's a joke, a necessary step toward knighthood (Windu might've skipped it, and with good reason - though I wouldn't bet on it).  
However, I'll cut my braid within weeks; I'm too old, and this is too intense.  
Without mentioning the fact that my stunning, adorable wife should be more than enough to make me forget about it all.

The moment we step into our quarters, I drop my bag, hop on the couch and kick my boots away. Obi-Wan comments respectively with a glower, a click of his lips and an eye-roll.  
As I nap, he diligently unpacks, showers and writes his report.  
Then, he wakes me up holding an iced Ebla bottle against my cheek and answers to my curse gifting it to me.  
He frees his spot pushing my feet down the couch and drops beside me with a soft wail.

"Corellians are respecting pacts, after all," I offer to my discouraged Master, straightening up a little to avoid dribbling. "They have no reason in the Galaxy to step into a war that, let's be honest, straightforwardly sucks; nothing could've persuaded Bel Iblis to side with us. Well, except maybe for..." I deliberately trail off to sip at my drink.  
Obi-Wan rewards me with a curious, attentive look that makes my stomach flip.

"Bribing," I conclude.

He snorts. "That's not the Republic's way! Not every Corellian is a scoundrel, young one. The Senator would've taken offence."

"As well with the creds."

Obi-Wan covers his face to hide his amusement. "When did my Padawan become this cynical? I'm taking mental note not to let you talk with a Senator ever again."

 _What about other than talking?_

Over the following hour, he explains once more how the System could turn the tides of the war and goes over each clause of the Contemplanys Hermi in detail.  
My nap left me warm and cosy, and I can't bring myself to listen to a word. His lips move, and I see them move around me. The glimpse of the tongue between his teeth will make me go on for weeks.

 _Kriff._

I need Padme, as soon as possible. Plotting my night escape will avert my focus from his mouth, at least.  
I'm desperate for a friend to talk to, but those I trust are exactly the last two I can share this with.

One of them is frowning at me, right now; lips pursed, arms crossed.

"I'm sorry," I mumble. "War, missions, trails. Too much going on and I can't concentrate for my life."

 _No meditation, please_

"Meditation will do," he suggests, sounding annoyed himself.

I swallow a sigh, and we do it right away.  
I'm so hopeless I even enjoy it; the way our knees touch when I manage to shift close enough, the way he feels in the Force. I crave for his harmony because I'm weak and wicked.  
There's no blaming the war for the growing distance between us. It's me that's spoiling it all, betraying all we built over these years.  
I guess some are just born with chaos in their veins, and they surely do not belong here.

I count the minutes until I sneak to Padme and get a break from the exhausting tension of these days. Despite this, when he proposes to dine together, I'm ecstatic.  
I love when he cooks for me. I'll starve once I'm knighted if we don't share quarters anymore.  
I bet he can't wait to kick me out and eventually make this place just as neat and tidy as he wishes. Maybe, he'll take another Padawan straight away; one that will be glad to take care of all the housework I shamelessly shun.  
The idea alone sends me out of my mind.  
I yearned to be his equal for years. Now that I'm about to, I wish we could just stop here.

"Would you say you're a Padawan person?" I casually enquire.  
Not the smartest question, given that any answer will bring me the same amount of regret and relief.

"I wouldn't," he replies.

(On a side note, my painstakingly polite Master considers acceptable talking with his mouth full, in my presence. I'm not quite sure how to interpret this. More troubling, I find it cute).

"Are you happy I'm gonna be a Knight soon?" Here's another good one.

Obi-Wan's head tilts, meaning the answer should be obvious. I get the identical ambivalent feeling than before.

"Will you tell me what's wrong?" he adds, replenishing my dish.

I take a deep breath and opt for a half truth. "It's all too fast. I'm supposed to be thrilled because I'm getting all I've always wanted. Instead, some karking mechanism broke inside me, and all feels dull."

He wears his 'compassionate Master' face; twisted mouth and concerned furrow. "The war is changing us, Anakin. It might be that what you always wanted is not what you want now."

"I fear what my knighting will do to us." I blurt out, wishing somebody could stop my rant. "My thoughts are all wrong. I should worry about war, not this."

"Your struggling won't affect the conflict in any way, Anakin. Be patient, accept your goals won't always be straightforward. You're so young, and crossing so many borders at once... your confusion is understandable." He hesitates, as he always does when he's about to say something slightly personal, then smiles warmly. "We're a good team; cutting a braid won't change it. The loss of that little authority I delude myself I still have over you doesn't scare me."

I throw him a playful look. "Profit of these weeks, then. Pull rank on me one last time and make me obey all your orders."

Obi-Wan snickers, apparently finding the notion of a diligent, submissive Padawan hilarious.  
I feel the urge to reach for him over the table and... I don't know. Do things to him.

"Test me, Master," I purr.

 _Mother of Moons._  
 _Am I flirting with my Master?_

The swift rise of his eyebrows leaves me poor hopes my inopportuneness passed unnoticed.

"How could I refuse?" He grins. "Start by cleaning the table, Padawan!"

I obey without a complaint. However, the orders I contemplate while loading the sonic dishwasher are of an entirely different nature.  
To be honest, my mind can't go much further than kisses. I steal one, let's say before he goes to bed; a goodnight kiss hijacked to his lips.  
Obi-Wan blushes the way he did during the sparring incident.  
'Anakin' he whispers, reprovingly slouching the last syllable.  
'What,' I reply before doing it again.  
He finally gives in, and his beard feels weird.

This is where my imagination stops. The kiss seems improbable, but not out of this Galaxy; an expression of affection more than lust.  
I can see my Master being so surprised he lets me, perhaps even enjoying it a little.  
But then, I'm not sure. My - limited - experiences with men were all kinda... rough. That's not like him, neither on the receiving or the giving end.

I must be out of my mind.  
He could be a virgin, as far as I know; no sense in racking my head on who would top.

"My caf won't make itself!" He urges from the living room, loud enough to overcome the shrieking from the holoviewer.

 _Thanks to the Force, I'm good at shielding._

Handing him the warm cup, I consider watching old scary holomovies with him until our eyes sting. We could mock the lousy special effects. Obi-Wan would point out they used to give youngling-me nightmares anyway.  
He would let me snuggle a little bit, maybe.

I shake my head and announce that, if he's done with orders, I'm going out with friends.

"Nice excuse," he sneers, eyes on the screen. "We both know you can't bear 'The Dathomir Witch Project' till the end."

"Well, I can't risk bad dreams since you won't take me into your bed anymore."

 _Stop. It._

Maybe I sense it in the Force, perhaps I just know him too well but, for a moment, Obi-Wan seems baffled. And embarrassed.

"You used to kick me to the mattress border, back then," he comments, pretending he's neither of these. "No desire to find out what would happen now that you're taller than me... Sure, Anakin, have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

* * *

 _thank you followers and favouriters, you mean the world :)_


	3. 3

Flying to my other house, Obi-Wan's last words keep playing in my head.

I'm not following his advice, this time.  
He wouldn't do to Senator Amidala what I plan to.

The living room door hisses open.  
Padme peeks above the incredible expanse of durasheets and holobooks covering the dining table. She squees, and springs from her chair into my arms.  
I make her spin.  
We kiss.  
The whole thing.

My wife will never admit it, but she's been worried. We're not used to war yet, and she fears for my life even when I'm on a diplomatic mission, even when all I risked on Corellia was dying of boredom.  
Force, I love being missed.

"You didn't tell me you were back!" She whines, shuffling back to her chair. "I'm drowning in work, Ani. My speech is due tomorrow, and it's not even halfway."

I turn the next chair around and straddle it, forearms on top of the backrest.

"I don't wish for anything better than watching you work," I assure.

Padme gives me an unconvinced side glare and resumes her writing.  
Despite the evident tiredness, my wife looks as charming as ever. She was planning to work all night on her own, and still she's impeccable. Not once I've seen her hair tousled, her clothes rumpled, her make-up smudged.  
I don't know how the kriff this woman does it.

"According to Bel Iblis, Corellia will join the war when it snows on Tatooine," I throw out after a while.

"Didn't expect anything different," Padme replies, eyes on her speech. "Obi-Wan must be annoyed his gab and charm didn't work, this time. Hope he hasn't been tormenting you too much."

"You have no idea," I sigh, idly wrapping one of her curls around my finger. When I release it, it bounces back into its shape.

"Hm-hm," my wife mumbles, miles away.

I slide her metal headband off. Dark locks fall all over her face and work.  
Padme winces. The thick mass of hair is vexedly shifted back over her shoulders.

"Go to bed, Ani." she huffs. "Meditate or something. I'll come later."

 _I start missing my Master's couch._

"Missed you," I whisper, and smoothly undo the tiny clasp on the back of her top. My light pecks on her naked shoulders make her shiver.  
Padme shifts away, but I place my hands around her waist and sit her on the table, crumpling sheets.  
An exasperated, defeated titter escapes her control. She lays down without a word, resignedly shaking her head.

I must go through hundreds of skirt layer to get to her legs. Then, I slide my hands under her knees and lift, as to set her feet on the table edge.  
She docilely raises her bottom so that I can slide her underwear away.  
My mouth sparsely trails from her ankle up her calf; then, down the inner of her thigh.

"Anakin," she coos, reaching out for my hair.

I seize her wrist and restrain it against the table-top.  
Two fingers of my other hand carefully bare the tiny dot between her legs. Padme holds her breath.  
I begin with slow, considerate laps. When the nub grows firmer, I gently suck it. Her sighs take a pained, irresistible note.

Suddenly, I'm aware of the growing discomfort in my groin; I free her arm to stroke its origin through my trousers. It doesn't make it any better.  
My fingers dip inside her, bend up and down, a bit faster and deeper each time.  
Providentially, it's not long before Padme abruptly jerks toward me, and stills. I sense her rhythmical contractions with my lips and fingers.

I don't even wait for her pants to slow down; hands on her flanks, I turn her around, so roughly that she gasps. Then, I struggle with her annoying skirt again, collecting tons of crêpe on her back.  
I place her hip where most convenient, hastily unbuckle and rub my tip against the soft slant. Her sex is flushed; so ready and wet it shines.  
I stop just before entering her, unable to hold back a disgruntled groan.

The woman I worship and love is offering herself to me. She's beautiful, yearning and mine. Only a few months ago, not even in my wildest dreams I could've imagined it.  
Yet, I'm restless, frustrated, ill.

My wife turns to me, her forehead wrinkling. She leans back against my groin; my gloved hand between her shoulder blades stills her against the table-top.

My flesh thumb glides inside her once and gets out slick. I use it to probe the adjacent, smaller opening. When the tight ring softens, it slips in and patiently draw circles until a second finger can join.  
Padme's own finger-tips appear from below her belly to take care of what I'm neglecting.

Every other moment, she tenses. As soon as she realises it, she loudly exhales and relaxes again. Timing myself with one of those sighs, I support my weight with a hand on the small of her back and use the other to help myself inside her.

Her muffled cry only urges me.  
I'm too impatient to wait for her body to accept mine. I grasp the flesh of her buttock with both hands and make it slap against my groin.

I close my eyes.  
Without a doubt, her moans are not my Master's; is smooth, petite, soft Padme below me, with her girlish sobs, her flowery fragrance, her small hand reaching back to hold mine, affectionate and sweet, even now.

I sigh.  
My thrusts get ruder.

Obi-Wan would feel what I feel now, inside me; the knowledge he's dominating me would give him this same frenzy. I see him quiver at my whines, that damn stray lock falling over his eye. Then, he loses control, the way I am. His fingers bruise my thighs as he takes from me what he needs.  
I pull out with a growl to watch myself glaze Padme's back and dress, and he's doing the same with me. His and my heartbeats slow down together, the release brings us same hollowness and guilt.

 _Holy Sith._  
 _I'm far worse off than I thought._

I relieve her of the weight of my body.  
My wife briskly sets her dress in place and checks behind her shoulders how bad it is.

"What in Malachor was that?" She asks, rearranging her documents in neat piles.

I rub my neck. "I thought... Trying something new would've been nice. You should've stopped me if..."

"Be assured I would have, if that was the case," she rolls her eyes. "It's not that, laserbrain. Nice is not the word I'd use in this particular instance, but I don't mind experimenting. Even though my husband has to be with me, body and soul, next time, or there won't be one."

 _This woman must be a karking Force Sensitive._

"Dunno what you're talking about," I fumble, calling the Force to control my blushing.

Padme scoffs. "You'll explain where your mind got lost tomorrow, after my speech - if even there will be one. You better go back to the Temple, now."

* * *

 _Ehm... I'm so sorry?_


	4. 4

I slap my palm on the console twice, on my flight back.

My wife should've been curing, not lecturing me. My Master... I don't know what he's doing to me, but he must stop, right now.  
I wait in the silent hangar for fifteen minutes, breathing slowly inside my cockpit.  
Even Padme saw through my shields, tonight, I better pray my Master is asleep.

At home, my wishes are granted and I must convince myself I'm relieved he's not up.  
Lonely nights have always been difficult, to me; pitch black, imperturbable desert skies used to make me feel like the last person alive on the planet. Coruscant's shiny skyline and relentless traffic should bring some comfort. Instead, they only sharpen my forlornness. No loving eyes reflecting a kinder image of myself, when everybody's asleep, nothing to sway me from the hideous things that sleep inside my chest.

I fold the blanket Obi-Wan let behind, fighting the instinct to dip my face into it, but end up staring at his door handle.  
The Force could deepen his sleep, give me a glimpse of his dreams.  
I could even sneak into his bed like I threatened. Under the sheets, all will have his warm scent. I'd drag his arm over me; it would be heavy and cosy.  
He'd found out he's been hugging his all grown-up Padawan only waking up.

Force. I live on the cusp of making something stupid.  
I had hoped my marriage to fix me. On the opposite, conquering my wife only got me set for the next goal.  
The war gave me the final blow; it raised the stakes at high speed, brutally revealing the precariousness our world. I learnt I fear for my Master life, and it is my responsibility. It brought my trials forward, remarking our days together are numbered.  
Furthermore, our battlefield successes made the Council forget all their concerns over our attachment, and we substantially stick together since Geonosis.

As a result, I'm failing my Master, hurting my wife, and being dishonest to them both. Still, the more I consider stepping back for their own good, the more I cling to them.  
I couldn't renounce to Padme and trapped her in a lie.  
It's not too late, though, for Obi-Wan. I will profit from the severing of our training Bond to distance myself. Even if the idea of cutting the last thing that ties us together gets me sick.

Tonight, without reason, I threw away an evening with him and night with my her. I can still save the few hours left before dawn. All I have to do is go straight to bed.  
Perhaps, I will wake up a different Jedi - one that doesn't fuck his wife dreaming of being fucked by his Master, to begin with.

Anyhow, I already slid his door open.  
Out of sudden scruple, I resolve to skip sleep induction and just cross the room as quietly as possible.

Obi-Wan sleeps on his belly, hands buried under the pillow.  
The wrinkle between his eyebrows isn't there. The sheets expose his pale, naked shoulders. His eyelashes tremble when I cautiously sit on the bed.

I know his skin by heart, where it's smooth and where rough, the place and size of every freckle and mole. His scars are mapped inside my mind; I was there when he got most of them, and can tell the story behind the others.  
I know the shape of his toes, the colour of the hair of his pits and groin, and where his back is sore.  
If you come to learn this much of someone, along with all his quirks and habits, how in the Galaxy are you supposed not to form an attachment?  
Nonetheless, too many details are still to unveil; what keeps him awake at night, when he last cried, who he kissed first. The taste of his mouth, what turns him on, how his moans sound.  
These gaps of ignorance sting, as only erasing them would finally make him mine.

Immobile, I listen to his Signature. There's a peculiar, dry sorrow, in it; a lonely sickness I only hear when everything is still. Another part of my Master I delude myself is mine alone, something else to be addicted to.

I touch his beard, let it scratch my fingertips.  
He doesn't flinch.  
I slip under the blanket, holding my breath.  
Obi-Wan hums and snuggles closer, to the point he's almost spooning me.  
Painstakingly slowly, I crawl back until any residual distance is filled.  
As his body heat warms me up, the anguish that was knotting my stomach fades. I'm overwhelmed with memories of all those times his presence was enough to dry tears up and wash nightmares away.  
I close my eyes, breathe his scent, and am whole.

.

In the morning, my Master's beard is prickling my neck, his hand wide open across my chest, his leg over mine.

My mind and body start incoherently screaming.  
I must draw on all the Jedi ever taught me not to react.  
This thing is about a nostalgic Padawan looking for the chaste comfort of his Master's arms, one last time before his knighting. I'm not sullying it with my dirty thoughts.  
I place a feather-like kiss on the top of his head, inwardly chanting 'naked Master Yoda, naked Master Yoda,' like a mantra.  
And it works; I'm all tender and affectionate, completely unaffected by the warmth of his groin against my thigh.  
This, until Obi-Wan starts lightly, almost imperceptibly grinding.  
That's where I lose it, as rapidly as a hyperspace jump.

Holy Sith, holy Sith, holy Sith, says the new mantra.

I do not move, guiltily hoarding new material for my future fantasies, like a disgusting thief; low-key wondering what would happen if I'd offer him a more adequate remedy against his obvious need.

'I'm just being compassionate, Master,' I'd explain, my hand inside his pants, 'as you always preach.'

Bantha poodoo.  
Just learning what he's done to my leg, he would never be able to look at me again.  
With an amount of sheer willpower that would certainly make him proud, I gently slide his limbs off me, hook the bed edge with my free ankle, and start squirming away.

My Master grumbles. He hugs me tighter, his fingers going through the hair behind my ear.

A breathless curse escapes my lips.  
His eyes open into mine, our faces too close.  
Obi-Wan springs up like the bed is on fire; muddled, flushed.  
His gaze instinctively follows mine, from the creases of my trousers to those of his pajama bottoms. He briskly moves a cushion onto his lap, flashing a terrifying glower.  
His Signature cracks like dry wood in a fireplace.

"It's... _perfectly natural_ , Master," I comment.  
(Apparently fancying the idea of his hands around my neck - somehow understandable, though, probably, far less nice than I make it.)

"You're almost a Knight, and we're at war!" Obi-Wan groans, desperate to make his embarrassment pass as vehement disapproval. "Making mischiefs is not what you're supposed to do. Truly, I can't get what you're doing here, nor how this is funny."

He's extra ruffled, half naked, with pillow marks on his crimson face. Quite funny, actually, and completely irresistible.

I frown and bite my lip to match his confusion. "Was tipsy... Took wrong door... maybe?"

"Undoubtedly, wrong door." He massages his forehead, breathing deeply. "Why, of course, you randomly materialised into my bed the same night you mentioned your old 'nightmares'..."

"Day residue. Unconscious and booze are a bad match. I'll meditate on temperance."

"Come closer, Anakin."

"W-What?"

Obi-Wan gives me an impatient glare and points the air before his mouth.

I lean forward.  
Our faces linger near to each other for a couple of seconds, my heart trying to break free from its cage.

"No alcohol in your breath." Is the response. "No headache, no brooding. You forget I know exactly how hungover-Anakin looks like."

I huff and shrug. "Okay, you got me. And well, where's a big deal? This is not the first time we share a bed, and that's not forbidden, as far as I know. Was it really so insufferable?"

"N-no. But it's was..." He sighs. "Disrespectful. My room, my bed: I'm entitled to privacy as everybody else, and you should've asked. Furthermore, it was utterly inappropriate."

My jaw drops, as I've just heard the most curious concept ever.

"You know what I mean," he attempts to explain. "You're not a youngling, even if you behave like one."

"Wait, I'm not sure I got this straight - sorry, terrible word choice. Are you concerned people might gossip about us sleeping together? Because they won't, if we don't tell them. Or are you're worried we might actually end up doing something worth gossiping?

His efforts to keep his temper are impressive.  
Instead, I'm struggling with a resentment I don't fully understand.

"Am I, by chance, making you uncomfortable?" I taunt.

"Seriously, was this all about making me blush? Whoa, hilarious. Now, get the kriff out, Padawan, and let me get dressed."

Obi-Wan leaves the bed and starts vexedly rummaging his wardrobe for a shirt. Then, he turns to me, pretending he's surprised I'm still here.

I stand up to tower over him. "Fascinating how you always assume my ultimate goal is pissing you off. No other motive ever moves me, I'm not even given the benefit of the doubt... You complain I do not consider you human, but it's me that's more a joke than a person to you. A promise to fulfil, in the better scenario, with no other purpose than complicating your life."

He holds my stare but must look up to do it. "This is unjust, and you know it. Facing a remonstration, your only worry is to hit back harder - your opponent and yourself, indifferently. And then again, I'm all ears. What moved you, if not the desire to make your Master awkward?"

I forcefully blow air from my nose and consider an indignant exit not to have to explain myself. His eyes, though, say he perfectly knows I'm about to flee, so I force myself not to.

"I enjoy that," I admit. "But it wasn't it. Neither it was bad dreams - just bad thoughts, mind getting lost in dark places. I felt lonely, couldn't fall asleep and longed for a breath to listen to. I didn't foresee all this fuss."

Obi-Wan frowns at his feet.  
When he talks again, his voice has grown softer. "Wake me up, next time. I don't want you to struggle alone. If you fear a lecture, let's say I gave enough already, and we're done with them... See? The perks of ceasing being my Padawan. Perhaps, exiting our of roles will help us open up with each other. As friends, I mean. Free to share our bad thoughts."

"You start," I whisper.

"Of course... Here's one: I've been your Master every day of my adult life. Now, letting go is bittersweet; I'm proud of the Jedi my Padawan has become, but I'll miss having a definite purpose. I'll be on my own for the first time, but not needed anymore."

My smile must look pretty dumb.  
Suddenly, I'm unsure what to do with all my limbs.

"What a silly man," I mutter, not trusting my voice. "As this walking disaster will ever stop needing him. However, let's face it, your bad thoughts suck."

"Oh, blast! They sounded bleak and selfish enough, to me," Obi-Wan snickers. "I had no idea this too was a challenge... Your turn, then. Do your worst."

My Master is giving out a precious gift. If he's waited all this time to accord me his trust, it's all my naivety's fault.  
He deserves the truth, but I have no idea how to deliver it.

I stare at the place where he's been laying, carefully choosing my words. "What creeps inside my mind is unworthy of a Jedi. Angst, possessiveness, lust... The more I try to defeat them, the more strength they gain."

A brief silence. Then, Obi-Wan jovially pats my shoulders and drives me out of his room.

"I'm afraid, my friend, you have a bad case of being twenty and infatuated with someone. On the bright side, I promise there's a good chance you'll pull through. No need to be this dramatic."

I finally manage to look at him.  
Despite the cheerful tone, his face is blank.  
In steer contrast with it all, a viscous melancholy is discretely seeping out of his Signature. There's much more, deep there, but his shields are as sturdy as mine.  
Hard to be honest with each other, from behind walls.

Right off the kitchen door, I impulsively grab his forearm. "You don't understand, Master. I'm in love."

My mouth stays open, for I had no idea I was going to say this.  
Force, I didn't even know it was a thing.  
We share a quick, surprised look before he wriggles free and starts fumbling with the caf distiller.

"The diagnosis is the same, Anakin. It seems so terrible because you're scared to death. What you feel is neither right or wrong, is what you do with it that matters. Look straight into it; you'll find out its shadow is far more menacing than the thing itself. I have every confidence you'll overcome it."

Obi-Wan hands me my mug. Our fingers brush.  
His confidence might be misplaced because all I can think of is kissing him hard against the kitchen counter.

* * *

 _If you're enjoying this story, please consider leaving a comment - just a word will do.  
I'm working really hard on it, and your feedback is my only reward._

 _Thank you  
Alcalina_


	5. 5

We eat our breakfast in silence.  
From time to time, Obi-Wan peeps at me from over his holopad. He played it cool, but it's clear he's troubled. I managed to make him worry once more.

I cringe so hard I can barely look at him.  
Why the hell did I say that?  
My stupid Jedi ass can't even tell fondness from love.  
We are warned against attachments all the time but are never taught how they look like, nor how to handle them once they're formed.  
Luckily, this means my Master is just as clueless as any other Jedi and has likely no idea what I was actually talking about.

I raise my eyes from my mug in time to catch his intent on me.  
After some pondering, he reaches out over the table to pinch the tip of my braid between two fingers.  
I'm so karked up this makes my heart pound faster.

"The Master is to be blamed for the Padawan's shortcomings," Obi-Wan recites. "... On your knees, please. It will take a minute."

He turns his chair around and gives me one of his persuasive glances; all I can do is comply. Awkwardly, I crouch between his knees and hold a hand out to save my beads as they're are taken off, the way I've done thousands of times.

Obi-Wan undoes my braid with sure movements and divides the hair again into three thin strands. "Much more to plait, twice the beads, and I have to reach up instead of down. Must've been a long time."

"I seem to remember you decreed years ago I was old enough to do it myself..."

"I confirm it. I just had to take care of this one last time."

The light tugs behind my ear say he's already tightly braiding back.  
I close my eyes to relish his body warmth as I'm nested between his legs, his fingertips brushing my nape, his eyes fixed on me.

"You'll have other Padawan to spoil," I almost moan. "P-plenty of braids."

"Well, I'm saying goodbye to yours, this morning, not to have regrets when its time comes... You know what they say, that Jedi are not made when their braids are cut, but when they cut their apprentices'."

Obi-Wan picks the beads from my open palm and fixes them back in place: yellow, and blue, and red, and blue again, in neat order from the oldest to the newest. He uses the last one to secure his work and closely evaluates it.  
I hold my breath, savouring the final moments of his caring touch and undivided attention.

"Who did cut yours, in the end?" I blab to gain a minute.

"I did it myself, to Master Yoda's disappointment. I had planned to leave it on Qui-Gon's pyre. That night, though, that seemed a little... _over-dramatic_. It must still be in my room, at the bottom of some chest."

My throat clenches.  
Behind my shut eyelids, I see my Master as a boy, firelight flickering on his face. He turns to me and promises I'll be a Jedi. Under his robe, now I know, he's clenching his freshly severed braid.  
Then, I picture him getting back to these same quarters with an annoying child in place of his Master, slamming the thing into a drawer not to have to see it again.

Obi-Wan dismisses the matter with a casual gesture and an overt mocking tone. "I have a feeling that your tidy, precious braid will have a different fate, though; is it going to be gifted to your cru- I beg your pardon: ' _loved one_?'"

I let out a sound that wants to resemble a laugh. "Oh, Master... I can't believe you actually fell for that! You were right all along, I was just being a tease."

Obi-Wan doesn't comment and tightens my short ponytail by pulling it firmly. Then, before getting up, he gives my spiky hair a quick ruffle that leaves me gasping.  
He never touches me without a practical reason, be it healing, braiding, of training. I'm about to beg him to do it again.

Finally, he shows me his condescending smirk. "We've all been there, Padawan, and survived to tell about it. It's like the flu; you have to let it run its course. Admission is an excellent start."

"Are you suggesting I... act on my feelings?"

"The course I'm referring to is internal, young one. Blowing on a flame bigger than a candle's will only make it brighter. Watch it burn, instead, like a controlled fire. It will naturally go out if you don't stoke it."

With this piece of Jedi wisdom, he leaves me.  
I stay there on the rug, dreamily coiling my braid around a finger, drunk on the utter closeness we shared over the last hours.

I've been 'watching it burn' for weeks, and it didn't get any better.  
Actually, I'm every day more famished; no matter how long one waits, hunger doesn't 'naturally go out.' One has to feed.  
As I get ready for the day, I find myself considering how a single bite might be enough to cure me. A taste of his lips and I'm free. He would concede it to me if he only knew what I'm enduring.

Although, Obi-Wan talked like he had firsthand knowledge of the facts. All morning, I imagine him head over heels for some girl, patiently waiting for it to pass. The picture I get is both fascinating and disturbing; it shows he can actually give out what I'm desperately craving, only not to me.

These fantasies severely impair my morning training; a slender Gungan Padawan gets the best of me without even trying.

"Not your day, kid," Quinlan Vos remarks as I come out of the arena.

Despite how much I hate being called that, I respectfully bow my head and say I'm glad to see him well.  
He certainly knows all there is to know about my Master's past, and the intriguing nature of the subject might make him talkative.

"My Ataru is not good as it used to be... I was wondering if maybe you could-"

"Ask that your Master," Vos cuts me off. "Maybe you can fool him, but I know all too well Skywalker's trademark is bragging, not self-belittling... What do you want, Padawan?"

"The war has made you cynic, Master Vos; I could definitely use a sparring session, and you know Obi-Wan has a... conflicted relationship with Ataru. Without considering, he's not himself, lately."

Vos picks up his ears - no doubts troubled friends are his weak point.  
I keep laying out my bait, describing my symptoms in place of my Master's; agitated, absent-minded, dreamy, melancholic, moody.  
Vos gravely hums with each one until he curses out loud and exclaims I'm so karking right.

"... am I?" I stutter.

"The idiot has them all, and I didn't connect the dots until now. Force curse me if I allow this to end the way it did last time." He glowers at me, apparently bothered by my very existence. "Kriff, I'm not sharing this with his Padawan. Forget about it, Skywalker. I'm gonna take care of everything. Only... try to give him a break, okay?"

"Excuse me... a break from what, exactly?"

"Pretty sure you have an idea already." Vos gazes behind my shoulders, pretending not to notice my pique. "Just be a good boy, cut that damn braid, and let him alone."

Without another word, he turns around and leaves, apparently taken by a sudden urge to fix a certain question.  
I frown, not entirely sure of what happened.

"So, _kid_ ," calls out the Gungan that beat me before. "Care for a rematch?"

Stupid move. Vos' allusions turned my earlier languor in a resentful energy, and I kick his ass almost effortlessly.  
Honestly, some people should just learn when to shut up.

Kriff. Padme's speech.  
I grab a viewer from the hands of a Padawan that's waiting for a sparring partner, ignore his protests, and turn it on just in time for the juicy part.  
She's finished explaining why the war won't be a lighting one, despite what its advocates want us to believe, and is addressing the dire social and economic consequences on the extended period. The downward spiral of catastrophes she foretells makes her audience buzz uneasily.  
I sigh in relief; a successful speech means she won't be too mad at me when I meet her later.


	6. 6

Towering from the mastodontic desk in the middle of her shiny office, wearing purple brocade, a gravity-defying hairdo, and a quirked eyebrow, Padme is intimidating - and she knows it.  
I love this side of her, she looks like royalty and makes me proud I'm her husband. Still, I prefer when she intimidates someone else.

"You killed them all with that speech, angel. Perfect diction and smooth delivery, despite last night interruption... maybe thanks to it?" I try one of my smirks, but her glare convinces me to desist. "Nonetheless, I agree I shouldn't have kept you from your work. In my defence, you're really, really hard to resist; I can't be blamed for wanting my sexy wi-"

"Yesteday, however, your plans included this 'sexy wife' as a mere device." She taps the desk-top with her perfectly oval nails. "Come on, Ani. Politicians know a lie when they see one."

"Padme, I…" _Stop_ _fumbling_. "Wanted you, truly. But I craved some release as well. I'm so tense, you know, with the war, all the responsibilities, and my Master..."

"It almost seems Obi-Wan has something to do with last night."

"Dear Force, no! It's just that... Being with him has become incredibly straining, okay? I keep failing him, and we argue all the time. It's clear he can't stand me."

"By Shiraya, can't you see that the man adores you?" I can tell my simper doesn't completely spoil my penitent look because her voice softens. "The problem is that you're two dorks, Ani, so big there's no way in the Galaxy you can admit to each other that you care - your closest approximation being that constant teasing and grumble of yours. Well, I regret to inform you that adults do not drop hints just to get frustrated if they're not picked up. You ought to tell him how you feel."

I look out of the transparisteel partitions, at the late afternoon commuters' jam getting worse.

 _I_ _want you, Master, so much I'm not thinking straight. I want you to want me._

My nervous chuckle makes Padme roll eyes. "You know what? Keep arguing like the di'kute you are, I don't care. Just, do not ever dream of sleeping with me again because you're mad at him."

I bow my head, mutter an apology, and promise.  
Padme still looks annoyed, but more in a benevolent, resigned way. Probably, this is the most ground I can recover, today - unless I put the small sofa where her guests are usually served Sapir tea to better use. It might work, if I'm tender enough. She almost seems to be expecting it.

I circumnavigate the desk to take her hand in mine and make our fingers tangle. Padme is stiff when I kiss her, so I suck and lick her lower lip until she must let me in.  
Unfortunately, tender doesn't seem to suit me, after all the rebuking. I'd rather get back in command, instead. I tilt her head back and take possession of her mouth completely.  
The moment I start imagining his lips in place of hers, I must take a step back.

"I'm so sorry…" I sigh, pressing my palm against my forehead. "Obi-Wan must be looking for me, at the Temple. He will kill me if I skip our evening meditation again."

"Force forbid!" Slightly breathless, Padme replaces some hairpin behind her ear before showing me the door. "After all, I've always knew there would've been more than the two of us to this marriage. I must… see Bail in half an hour, anyway. I'll bring him your regards."

 _Well, cheap shot._

Anger grows up inside of me as I exit the Senate Building.  
Every attempt to fix the messes I make only karks things up some more - even wanting not to be dishonest again to my wife backfired!  
I was doing just fine, with a delightful wife, a charming Master and my knighting so close… For kriff's sake, why do I have to always ruin everything?  
I'm worse each day, I must find a remedy before this ends in disaster.  
Predictably, the first one that pops into my mind consists in pinning my Master against the closest wall to then proceed to fuck the hell out of him (I suspect the other way around would work as well, as long as he's naked and desperate for me half I am for him.) I mutter a curse because this mental image alone makes me hardish; it's clear I can't be with Padme until I'm this sick - let alone anywhere close to him. I should simply stay the kriff away from them both while I get myself together - kind of ironical seeing that, right now, I'm risking a speeding ticket just to see him sooner.

Back home, Obi-Wan is drinking from the kitchen sink; a towel around his hip, dripping and suuri red.

"Hot shower got me thirsty," he explains with a disarming smile, wiping his moustache with the back of his hand.

As I gape like a total ord'ini at the droplets on his chest hair, I quite re-evaluate the 'fuck the hell out of him' solution to my troubles.

He has to wave his hand before my face to get the eye contact necessary to ask me to check his holopad as he gets dressed.

I docilely scan the highlighted doc - mission stuff from Windu, a dozen pages of it - although my mind is actually busy computing different data.

Stating he is a man, Obi-Wan was implying he does have the needs of man. Even though there's no realistic chance for me to actually end up into his bed, I could still attempt to dig out some of those missing fragments of him I crave. Hopefully, they'll bring me relief enough to let me focus back on my marriage and duty.  
I'm aware he'll loathe me just for trying, and himself for every bit he might concede, but I can't go on pining like this. I have no other choice (for Padme, if not for me, given that I can't even kiss her anymore!)

When Obi-Wan gets back - damp hair brushed and parted, neatly dressed but bare feet. - I'm resolute in my new intents and so enthralled by their possible outcomes I still have no idea what the mission is about. He asks me how I found it, and I can only vaguely reply that's fine with me.

"Glad to learn you finally overcame your irrational, unknight-like prejudices toward sand." He punches my arm and grins at my perplexed nod. "Let me tell you; just in time. The Council decreed this morning that, since Padawans are supposed to be already proving their worth on the battlefield, the trials are to be indefinitely suspended. Their own Masters will be the ones deciding when they are suitable for the Knighting ceremony - a simplified version of it, at least… My intel says yours will deem you to be ready as soon as we're back from this mission."

For a long time, I wanted to believe that Obi-Wan couldn't see me in _that_ light in reason of the unequal nature of our relationship - not wanting to even risk exploiting his authority toward me. If ever the fall of this reasonable premise theoretically gives me a chance, it will more likely prove that he simply isn't interested.

My lack of reaction makes his beaming smile fade. He squeezes my shoulder, making this the second time he touches me without a reason, today. "Oh, Anakin… I know, right? Rites of passage are meaningful, but wartimes demands us some sacrifices. We'll still find a way to properly celebrate, I promise."

There are just a few days of uncertainty left, just a few days to delude myself that what holds him back is just that I'm under his care and command.  
Our Bond and our closeness are doomed. The moment to risk it all is now.


End file.
